Time After Time
by Gotcha Nose
Summary: Hermione Granger gets sent back in time to the 1970's, where she commits herself to the mammoth task of defeating Voldemort before he can truly rise. Determined to rescue Harry from life as an orphan and save countless lives along the way, Hermione enlists the help of the Marauders and Lily Evans to find and destroy Tom Riddle's horcruxes before it's too late.


**I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.**

Hi there! This is a Time-Turner fic, as you may have gathered through the description. I hope you enjoy it, and please favourite, follow and review if you do. (CC is also always welcome, as it helps me develop as a writer.)

 **Disclaimer:** Astoundingly, I had nothing to do with the creation of the Harry Potter series, and thus, own nothing. I just enjoy messing around with the wonderful characters that JK Rowling has given us, in the hopes of getting another story out of them.

 **Note:** I have edited this chapter slightly from what it was, but the premise is still exactly the same.

* * *

 **Chapter One:**  
 _Hermione Granger_

One would generally assume that prophecies bequeathed to great Seers were born in the most noble of places. The fates of humanity foreseen whilst stood on clifftops and mountainsides, the oracle themselves staring blindly at the vast expanse of ocean, or bright moon of the night sky as the future unfolds itself.

This prophecy however, took place in a most unspectacular location: outside a ramshackle barn, in a little village just off the coast of Greece, near on five thousand years ago. And many would argue it was the most important prophecy to have ever existed; the best kept secret of wizard-kind.

For a young Hecate, nobility was the furthest thing from her mind as she tore strips of steak from the bone to feed her pack of hungry hounds. Hands soaked with blood; flesh embedded beneath her worn fingernails, Hecate sunk to the dirt on her knees and forgot herself – dogs licking at her gory fingers.

 _"No... No!"_

It would have been a frightening sight for anyone unfortunate enough to happen upon her. Skin paled to the pallor of milk, adorned with streaks of startling scarlet, blue irises expanding - drowning her pupils and filling the whites of her eyes to a pit of deep sapphire. Her limbs shook as she uttered words of death and decay, in a language that time had already forgotten.

 _"A darkness falls over humanity… bestowed by he whose name they fear. A saviour born too late to save… the world of men and magic will crumble."_

She rocked on her knees, back and forth into the ground, as her breath heaved and skin tightened under the strain of the vision, clinging to her cheekbones; making her previously full and healthy face look gaunt, and frail.

 _"Should an unsuspecting champion emerge… her hands clasped to the sands of time, fate is tied to neither thread…to face one another… defines the path the new earth shall tread."_

The mist from Hecate's eyes began to clear as the dogs howled chillingly beside her, their call echoing through the trees to the villagers nearby. She looked up at the dark velvet of a new moon, pupils not yet fully distinct, and whispered two words

 _"Hermione Granger."_

* * *

 **1997**

Hermione woke with a start.

Her ears rang with the sound of violent howling, and she cursed herself once again for nodding off when she was supposed to be doing something. Voldemort was pulling rank and could strike at any moment, yet she was sluggish and dazed because she couldn't get a good night's sleep. She needed to pull herself together.

She'd been waking up with this sensation in her ears for a couple of days now, but could not for the life of her determine what it was. She presumed it must just be the bad weather, a breeze seeping through the cracks of the Weasley's higgledy-piggledy house and whistling around the room as she slept. However, something with that explanation did not sit quite right with Hermione. She'd stayed at the Weasley's so many times before this, and never been bothered by the shrill of the wind… Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.

Due to her fitful sleep, Hermione found herself rushing around to get dressed and presentable for an Order meeting. Dumbledore's death had only increased their regularity, with them now often taking place at random and incomprehensible times, such as two in the morning and eleven at night, due to Mad-Eye's need for 'constant vigilance'.

It was ridiculous, she thought, organising a meeting at such a time it was still dark from the night before. Especially as her sleeping patterns were already questionable at best. The hands on her muggle watch read 1:07, and she loathed to think about when the meeting might end. All this sneaking around and organising extra meetings truly showed the sense of panic and paranoia that was steadily rising within some of the older Order members. This, Hermione believed, was due to the demise of the Professor. Many had believed the old man to be invincible, and now he was gone, well, it showed how vulnerable even the greatest wizards could be.

Hermione walked down the stairs, and into the dining room where several members of the Order of the Phoenix already awaited her. Professor Lupin and his wife Tonks gave her a welcoming smile, whilst the rest of the members, excluding Professor McGonagall, who provided her with a stern if somewhat affectionate nod, ignored her and continued their conversations.

Without Harry there, her and Ron were just seen as children. They were struggling to get the Order to take their suggestions and input seriously without the backing of _'_ The Boy Who Lived'. Never mind, she thought, that the trio were often equally responsible for getting into and out of scrapes involving The Dark Lord. They didn't have the scar, and they hadn't graduated, so their opinions were void. Even Lupin, who she considered a close and trusted mentor, sometimes appeared to brush over what they were saying in favour of the more experienced members of the group.

Being the brightest witch your age apparently meant nothing these days.

Hermione knew that this indirect snubbing would continue until Harry returned from his visit to the Dursley's and did something dramatic, pulling the whole 'Boy Who Lived' number on them all. Perhaps that would give them the kick up the arse they needed to realise that in times of war, age is just a number.

Besides, Hermione chuckled internally, Harry had defeated You-Know-Who without even figuring out potty training, just months after his first birthday. If that wasn't a demonstration of triviality of age, she didn't know what was.

She took her seat next to Ron, and watched carefully as Moody walked in, his infamous 'mad-eye' twitching around in its frame, assessing every individual in the vicinity. He pulled out a chair with a great scrape across the wooden floor, immediately silencing the room with his very presence.

"Well," said Kingsley, voice bright in spite of the seriousness of the occasion. "I suppose that's our cue to begin."

The meeting went on for almost three hours, with reluctant breaks every now and then enforced by a firm Mrs Weasley, who'd baked a selection of pies and cakes to see everyone through the discussion. Despite the sweetness of the battenberg, Hermione couldn't help the sour taste that was left in her mouth at some of the topics they brought up: the Death Eaters' consistent pursuits of Harry being one of them. She wouldn't be happy until he was back where he belonged, out of that Godawful house and firmly by her side, where she could keep an eye on him.

At one point, Hermione believed herself to have dropped off again, noticing that the ringing from earlier on that morning had returned, louder and more uncomfortable than before.

"… And despite more open opposition within the Ministry to Muggleborns these days…"

"Umbridge." Ron muttered, angrily scratching at a speck on the wooden table. Neither she nor Ron had forgiven the fluffy pink bitch for her treatment of Harry and manhandling of Hogwarts.

"… I believe that it should remain an integral aim of the Order, to not just focus on defeating _You-Know-Who_ , but protecting Muggleborns and their families, who have been the victims of a number of recent attacks."

Hermione clutched her head. The noise was getting worse. It felt like a dozen or so wild animals had taken residence in her ear canal and started a symphony. She wondered if this was what it was like to listen to a mandrake scream.

Her head started to throb gently as she closed her eyes, the pulse in her forehead banging to the tune of her beating heart, steadily increasing in weight and tempo. She groaned slightly, pushing at her temples in an attempt to distribute the building pressure.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Ron asked, sounding worried.

She tried to look up at him, but found that in his place she could only see a blurred orange and green figure.

"I'm just… I'm just going to go to the bathroom." Hermione replied, before lifting herself from her place at the table, and attempting to dodge a number of people and chairs with her blurred vision. After doing so semi-successfully, and with great effort, she left the room, breaking out into a half run – or as close to one as she could manage.

She made it through the narrow hallway, but the pulsating of her head was reaching a point that was almost unbearable. She stopped moving for a second, and clutched at the corner of the shabbily wallpapered wall before resting her forehead against it.

The raucous clamouring in her ears was slowly becoming more and more distinct, and now she knew without a doubt that it was not the drafty bedroom causing them. With the effort of her strained mind, Hermione thought back to when she was younger, and her family took a trip to her mother's cousin's farm. Much to her utter disgust, they had a small pack of hunting dogs which would howl uncontrollably every night as they watched foxes and badgers scuttle along smugly in front of their cages.

This howling was reverberating in her ears right now, like a group of distressed dogs begging for their freedom.

Although the hallway was fairly cool, beads of sweat began to form at her hairline and drip gently down her forehead, pooling together as they reached her eyebrows. Her hands felt slick and clammy, as if she'd just wiped them through the hair of her traitorous professor, Severus Snape.

 _"Hermione, dear?"_

The room began to sway, side to side like a ship on stormy waters. She didn't recognise the voice that was calling her.

 _"It's time."_

Her vision, though still blurry, was blackening at the edges, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold herself up for much longer. Weak and shaky, her legs gave out just before her eyesight, and she hit the floor with a resounding thud of darkness.

* * *

After a couple of seconds, Hermione found herself no longer facing the black of her closed eyelids, nor being surrounded by the homely mess of The Burrow. Instead, she dreamed of a place, a home away from home, that she knew all too well.

Hogwarts.

She was stood at the entrance to the Clock Tower, the great wooden door open just a tiny crack. It was enough to bless Hermione with a glimpse of the sparkling stars that were scattered across the moonless night sky, bathing her face in a cool, magical light.

A sense of relief shuddered through her at the utter silence of the moment. The onslaught of canine distress was no longer plaguing her mind and ears, and she felt as though she could finally relax. For the first time in years she could let the tension in her upper body unwind, and slacken the grip of her wand hand. She was imposed with a sense of solace, such that she had not experienced since her third year at Hogwarts, and the stars were more perfect than she'd ever seen them, her own body and soul more in tune with the rippling charms of the castle than ever before.

Staring at the door, Hermione felt compelled to enter the Clock Tower. There was a forceful urging pulsating throughout her bloodstream, one that had never wanted anything more than to walk through the oaken door. Her feet began moving of their own accord, her arms following suit to push their way into the room. As if under a pleasant version of the imperious curse, Hermione advanced unthinkingly up the spiralling stairs. Almost innate in feeling, her body moved like she was floating steadily along an imaginary stream, without the concurrence of her brain.

Hermione found herself coming to a stop at the wooden railing just before the clock face. Huge and translucent, the glare of enchanted glass seemed to hypnotise her as she watched the great hands move from second to second, minute to minute.

 _"Hermione Granger."_

The words seemed to reverberate around the tower, and yet Hermione continued to stare without hearing. Eyes fixed to the heavy ticking of the clock.

 _"A darkness falls over humanity…"_

This was the peace she'd been craving since the second rise of Voldemort.

 _"Bestowed by he, whose name they fear."_

It should have made her uneasy, the great numbered face, reminding her of the time constraints they had to find the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul. Instead, standing there with all of Hogwarts beneath her, Hermione felt limitless.

 _"A saviour born too late to save… the world of men and magic will crumble."_

It was as if she had the strength of the clock on her side, and several decades to even contemplate thinking about the mammoth challenge ahead of them.

 _"Should an unsuspecting champion emerge… her hands clasped to the sands of time…"_

Her eyes caught a spark of gold glinting against the frosted glass. Once more, her hands reached without active thought, chest pressed tightly against the barrier as her fingertips stretched to touch the glittering object.

 _"Fate is tied to neither thread…to face one another… defines the path the new earth shall tread."_

As soon as the surface of skin made contact with the item, Hermione was jolted from her stupor. Awake at last, she was stood where she'd dreamed she'd be, the Hogwarts Clock Tower. And in her hand, with its chain tangled between the gaps of her fingers, lay what Hermione recognised to be a type of Time Turner.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, no."

The pendant started to vibrate as Hermione frantically attempted to release the object from the confines of her fingers. The more she tried to pull on the chain, the more determined it seemed to be to wrap itself around her hand in a never-ending knot.

The vibrations were occurring at such a rate that her skin began to heat up where the tiny hourglass lay. In an effort to find some relief, she tilted her hand to move the pendant away from her tender palm, and immediately regretted her decision.

The hourglass began to turn. Slowly at first, but faster and faster, in accordance with the backwards moving clock that she once thought an ally. Her vision changed from dark to light, dark to light, at such a rate Hermione began to feel dizzy, and could no longer distinguish her surroundings as they passed her by.

The only thing that remained clear was the time turner itself, its twinkling white sand being tossed about in the confines of its crystal casing.

 _"Hermione Granger."_

The howling of dogs once more rose within her ears, and she found herself encompassed by feelings of terror, guilt and regret.

 _I'm so sorry, Harry._ She thought, as her legs began to lose their feeling and her stomach began to heave. _Please forgive me._

And for the second time that day, Hermione Granger felt herself keel to the floor and pass out. Blue eyes and great black dogs in her mind as she did so.

* * *

 **Mischief Managed**


End file.
